


Heavy Petting

by GoldenVendetta



Category: Final Fantasy: Brave Exvius
Genre: Lasswell is a dog but not really, M/M, No Climax, Possible Spoilers, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teasing, Why Did I Write This?, Yaoi, hints of feelings for Rain, implied Raegen/Lasswell, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenVendetta/pseuds/GoldenVendetta
Summary: A good dog deserves to be petted.





	Heavy Petting

**Author's Note:**

> OMG, I don’t even know. I saw the scenes regarding Lasswell being a loyal hound and it spawned this fic. I’m sure everyone is terribly OOC. I did my best. *cries* I also read and reread the doc. until my eyes hurt checking for typos. Now I’m releasing it into the wild. I’ll be over here in the corner nursing my shame. T_T

_ I am  _ **_not_ ** _ a dog! _

 

Purple Lightning hissed through the air. The martial exercises that used to bring Lasswell so much comfort and peace in the past we’re doing nothing to help ease his tensions. 

 

The party had decided to take shelter for the night in a cave deep within the Howling Mountain range after their second successful pact bonding with the esper, Fenrir. The noble wolf had continued to be impressed by their strength, and Lasswell with its, but he failed to see why everyone kept equating him to some blasted hound.

 

_ Damn that Sol _ . _ If it hadn’t been for the bastard’s insulting remark, the others wouldn’t be treating me this way _ .

 

Except that wasn’t entirely true. The rest of the group had been whispering similar things behind his back when they thought Lasswell couldn’t hear them. The battle against Fenrir had only brought their opinions of him out into the open more plainly.

 

He had come to expect that sort of verbal abuse from his Master, but it upset him that his supposed friends were getting in on it, too. When Lid had jokingly used dog commands to try and get him to back down from attacking Sol, he’d snapped. He’d already been angry—not jealous—that Sol felt he shared a deeper connection to Rain than Lasswell ever would. But when Lid had tried pulling that garbage on him in a weak attempt to diffuse the situation, he’d spun about and turned his blade on  _ her _ .

 

He wasn’t proud of that.

 

What was worse, he’d overreacted in full view of Akstar. His master hadn’t said anything regarding the incident with Lid, but Lasswell knew he had witnessed his pupil’s disgraceful outburst.

 

Instead, his teacher had chosen to focus on Sol’s observation. Because, of course he would. Any chance to humiliate Lasswell, he’d take. Akstar had decided “Lassie” was a fitting name for a loyal hound, and much to his student’s red-cheeked, dry-mouthed, pulse-racing horror had stroked his one hand over Lasswell’s hair. 

 

Only being hit by Thundaga had caused such a current to shoot across his entire body. 

 

In a less-than-steady voice, he’d pleaded, “Master...please don’t pet me…” 

 

Akstar had ignored him, of course, continuing to smooth his fingers against the dark, silky strands pulled tightly back from Lasswell’s face. He had been smirking, no doubt thinking Lasswell’s discomfort came from embarrassment at the condescending touch.

 

He was half correct.

 

Heat had pooled in Lasswell’s belly, an arousal he hadn’t felt for anyone’s hands on him aside from Sir Raegen’s. It didn’t matter that Akstar was stroking his head as if the younger man were a cur off the street. An insane thought questioned what it might feel like to have that hand caress his face, his chest, lower…

 

He’d had to escape as quick as he’d been able to, avoiding everyone until his pounding heart and rapid breathing had returned to normal.

 

Lasswell swung his katana harder, feeling the burn in his upper arms and shoulders. He had hoped training would clear his mind, both of Sol’s taunt and the residual sensation he could still feel of his master’s hand petting him. But it didn’t. He was forced to linger in his own mind to focus his swings, and that gave his brain more chances to mess with him.

 

He couldn’t deny his attraction to Akstar. As frustrating and mentally abusive as he was, there was something about him that drew Lasswell to him like a magnet. 

 

With Sir Raegen off adventuring with the rest of the Sworn Six, he had no one to  concentrate his desires on. His adopted father had always been the one who had trained him in the past. His master was strong, perhaps even stronger than Raegen, which was why the former Veritas had left his son in the other man’s care. Lasswell suspected he was transferring his feelings towards his absent parent to the next closest person who fit the mold.

 

And if  _ that _ wasn’t disturbing, he didn’t know what was. 

 

_ What the hell is wrong with me? It’s been less than a month since Father and his group departed Gungan. That means I’ve been out of his bed and his arms for fewer than thirty days, and I’m already looking to find a replacement. _

 

But that wasn’t fair nor true and he knew it. His feelings towards Sir Raegen hadn’t diminished in the slightest. He still loved and wanted the man as much as ever. But now Akstar had caught his interest as well and he found himself starting to think about the seasoned warrior in more ways than as just his teacher.

 

_ Can’t I have them both? _

 

Purple Lightning cut through the air with an angry slash. The harsh whuffs of air echoed in the cavernous space around him.

 

Now he was just being ridiculous and greedy. It was pure luck that he’d managed to secure his father’s affections, let alone in  _ that _ way. To even imagine trying to do so with his cantankerous master was to invite disaster upon himself.

 

And yet, he couldn’t shake the memory of that hand brushing over his head, making his scalp tingle as it sent electric chills running down his spine. Was it in any way possible that his master felt the faintest hint of attraction in return?

 

Akstar was like ruined art, a masterpiece dedicated to the way of the sword that had been rent asunder by the countless battles he’d survived. Every tattered inch of him proudly spat in the face of the world and all his enemies. His very existence was an act of defiance. No matter how his body was destroyed, his fighting spirit remained as sharp and deadly as his blade. He refused to surrender, refused to submit. That indomitable will, despite being the chief source of all of Lasswell’s headaches, was also the primary trait that made him completely submit to Akstar’s every callous whim.

 

And there were so many things he wanted to be ordered to do.

 

Lasswell grit his teeth. He could feel his manhood stirring along his thigh and did his best to will it away.

 

He was such a sorry mess. He yearned for praise from Akstar as he had once done from Sir Raegen. And like he had with his father, he also wanted that praise to be accompanied by physicality. He wanted to kiss those smirking lips and wring his name—not just some insulting nickname, but his honest, given name—on a heated groan from Akstar’s throat. Wanted to feel those strong fingers clutching his hip, to pull their bodies close together as proof of their shared desire pressed hot and wet between their stomachs…

 

Lasswell heard the sound of steel being drawn almost too late. He pivoted about, raising his katana in a clumsy block that sent a jolt of pain through his left wrist as the two swords connected.

 

His master quirked the eyebrow over his one visible eye at his pupil. He was barely leaning into the attack, and yet Lasswell was having to brace himself or be pushed back. “How sloppy. You should have sensed my presence long before I’d had time to draw my weapon. Had I been an enemy, I would have taken your head.”

 

A single, circling flick of Akstar’s wrist and Lasswell was disarmed. Purple Lightning was ripped right out of his hands. The blade flew up into the air and landed several yards away, skidding across the cavern floor when it touched down.

 

Lasswell gave a disheartened sigh, rubbing his own sore wrist as he looked between where his weapon landed and his teacher. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more conscious of my surroundings next time.”

 

“Next time, you’ll be dead. Let  _ that _ sink into your thick skull.”

 

Akstar’s cool expression never wavered as he pressed the pointed tip of his sword under his student’s jaw, just above his Adam’s apple.

 

He gestured toward Purple Lightning with his head. “Fetch, Lassie.”

 

Lasswell’s hands balled into fists, mouth curling into an angered scowl. “Is that a command from my Master?”

 

“Yes, puppy, it is. Your  _ Master _ wants his  _ hound _ to fetch for him.”

 

The scathing words were followed by a little jab with the blade tip. It wasn’t enough to do any sort of damage, but enough to remind Lasswell who was in control of the situation.

 

His voice was tight as he acquiesced. “Very well.”

 

“Good boy.” Akstar lowered his sword to one side, but didn’t sheathe it. He kept his gaze on the younger man as Lasswell retrieved his weapon and returned with it. As his student held it out to him, he blinked. “What do I want with that?”

 

Lasswell stared. “You told me to ‘fetch’.”

 

“Yeah, and?”

 

“I did as you told me to!”

 

Akstar sighed. “You really are a Lassfool.” He spoke slowly as if talking to a child. “You don’t just leave your weapon lying in the dust like that. You treat it with the proper dignity and respect it deserves. Why am I having to explain this to you? Honestly!” He sheathed his own sword with a dramatic “click” of the hilt meeting the scabbard.

 

Lasswell shook his head, refusing to be goaded further. “As you say.” Sometimes it was better to agree instead of trying to understand Akstar’s logic.

 

He returned Purple Lightning to its sheathe as well and prepared to leave when his master spoke up again.

 

“I must say, you’ve been a good boy recently, following all of my orders. I think you’ve earned yourself a small reward.”

 

_ Well, that’s different. _

 

He watched as Akstar walked over to the rocky outcrop of cave wall and placed his back against it for support so he could slide down into a sitting position. He moved his real and artificial legs into a comfortable arrangement before patting his right thigh and beckoning Lasswell over with a short whistle.

 

‘C’mere, Lassie.”

 

If he really were a dog, his hackles would have been raised. He had to struggle to keep his voice moderated. “Master, what is the meaning of this?”

 

“Don’t you know anything? The best way to train a dog is with positive reinforcement.” He fixed Lasswell with a solid stare. “I want you to continue being a good hound and come rest your head on my knee.”

 

“W-What?!”  _ I did  _ **_not_ ** _ hear that correctly just now... _

 

Except his teacher was motioning at him even more impatiently. “You said you would follow my every command if I agreed to teach you. Are you defying my order?”

 

“No, Master!” came the immediate reply, and as impossible to believe as it was, Lasswell moved to do as he was bid. 

 

It wasn’t like he abhorred the notion. Under normal circumstances, he might have even enjoyed this. It was the sort of attention he wanted, after all. But he had the sinking feeling that this “reward” was yet another “punishment” in disguise. Akstar never did anything pleasant for the sake of being nice. There was always some ulterior motive behind it, some way for him to get a laugh at Lasswell’s expense.

 

_ Has he guessed how I feel towards him? _

 

Sir Raegen had. He’d said Lasswell’s desire had been downright obvious despite his attempts to hide it. Was he failing at hiding his feelings from Akstar as well? Though, knowing the seasoned warrior, he guessed that Akstar would know his desire no matter how much he tried to cover it up. His insight into reading people was just that keen.

 

And besides, he’d accused Lasswell of exhibiting too much emotion as it was. Which was laughable, because Akstar’s own emotions were all over the place as far as Lasswell was concerned. Though his default setting seemed to be “detached”, he also displayed strange bouts of what might have passed for concern or thoughtfulness in another human being. But more often than not, it was sarcasm and insults and a perverse pleasure at making his student squirm.

 

_ I have undoubtedly given him more ammunition with which to torment me,  _ Lasswell thought bitterly. But he had no one else to blame but himself.  _ If I could just learn to reign in these emotions…! _

 

Akstar huffed. “You’re keeping me waiting, Lassie.”

 

“Apologies, Master.”

 

He leaned his sword against the cave wall and took stock of how Akstar was sitting, thinking of how best to pull off what was being asked of him.

 

“This side,” he was instructed. “I want to be able to reach you.”

 

Lasswell swallowed, wondering at the implications of that statement. 

 

He knelt down at Akstar’s right side and looked down at his lap. The black fabric appeared stiff and scratchy. It was supposed to be functional, not just as clothing but as armor..

 

_ I can’t believe I’m about to do this. _

 

He sat down, then shifted around until his back had room on the ground. He started to lie flat and pillow his head on Akstar’s thigh, a little above where his master’s knee was tucked, his calf supporting his bad leg from underneath.

 

“Wait!”

 

Lasswell froze. He held still as the other pulled rather ungently at the leather cord holding his hair bound. It came free, the dark mass spilling about his shoulders and across Akstar’s lap.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Lasswell finished lying back and didn’t even have a moment to adjust to the bizarreness of their positioning before fingers were running through his hair. Not just petting like before, but stroking. The motions were strong, possessive...and arousing as hell.

 

Without thinking about it, the young swordsman’s eyes fell shut and he drew in a breath that also contained some sort of shocked, yet pleased sound. His neck arched a little, pressing the back of his head down onto the hard muscle of Akstar’s thigh.

 

“You’re an obedient, loyal hound,” the older man was murmuring to him. “And good dogs get petted.”

 

He didn’t even care that he was being insulted, not with those fingers eliciting tingles all across his scalp. They started at his hairline, combing through the thick, ebony strands. Sometimes, the hair around his ears was stroked back, and each flushed shell got traced by the pad of an index finger. 

 

When blunt nails scratched softly under his chin and also where they could reach inside the high collar of his shirt and jacket, it raised goosebumps over his arms and legs.

 

“I’m not a cat,” he protested through halting gasps for air, even as he writhed in order to feel more touches.

 

Akstar snorted. “A dog enjoys a nice scratch as much as a cat does. And I know  _ you _ are enjoying it too. I’m not completely blind. I still possess enough vision to see you stiffening down there. Your trousers aren’t  _ that _ loose.”

 

Lasswell could feel his cheeks redden at that remark but there was little he could do about it. He couldn’t control how his body was reacting to the pleasant stimulus. 

 

Up and down, over his neck, through his hair, his master trailed his hand and Lasswell swelled within the confines of his pants. The material was unforgiving. It trapped his member downward when it wanted to spring up, yet no amount of wiggling or shifting of his hips was enough for the fabric to dig into him with the type of friction he wanted.

 

He needed the touch of a human hand.

 

Without thinking, he brought his right hand up and managed to get in two firm squeezes before the back of his wrist was smacked.

 

“Down, boy! Did I say you could touch yourself?”

 

Lasswell immediately resettled his hand at his side, but not without a cry that was more like a dry sob of thwarted desire.

 

With his eyes still closed, he felt rather than saw Akstar’s nod of approval. “Good boy, Lassie.”

 

He had no idea how long the petting went on. All he did know was that he felt delirious as the questing fingers were eventually brought to his parted lips.

 

His teacher’s voice, already naturally gruff, was a bit raspier than usual. “Good dogs lick their masters to show their appreciation for the attention.”

 

And crystals, how he wanted to! He wanted to roll on his stomach and bury his face in Akstar’s lap and lick at his hot length, to feel that hand clenching in his hair until his mouth was flooded by the older man’s seed.

 

But he hadn’t been ordered to do that. Wasn’t even sure if he ever would be. This whole ordeal seemed like nothing more than just another of Akstar’s demeaning requests, much like the degrading laughing fit Lasswell had been forced to enact. 

 

_ But if he ever  _ **_did_ ** _ request that of me…  _ Lasswell’s mouth watered at the prospect. 

 

But that was neither here nor there. Warm fingers were tracing the outline of his lips. So, he allowed his tongue to dart out and pass over sword-roughened skin in short, damp swipes. He wanted to do more, like suck or playfully bite, but he could almost hear what he’d be told if he tried:  _ Good hounds don’t bite their masters.  _

 

Beneath his head, he could feel Akstar hardening, and Lasswell groaned. His own erection pulsed in response. “M-Master…”

 

_ Maybe he’d let me suck him off after all? _

 

“Lift your shirt. I think you’ve earned a belly rub for your compliance.”

 

Lasswell did so, more than eager now to have the petting continue. He half-gasped, half-laughed as moist fingers spread over his bared abdomen and started rubbing him there. It tickled at first, but as his skin heated up and he felt the throb of Akstar’s cock under his head, his heavy breathing ended up bordering on whines of need.

 

“Such a desperate puppy.”

 

Lasswell felt the first button of his pants undone. He shivered, clenching his jaw and keeping his eyes tight shut. He’d heard the bemusement in Akstar’s comment and didn’t think he could take seeing his master looking down at him with that aloof, smug expression he liked to wear.

 

“Your skin is so hot right now. It’s like you’re burning for me.”

 

The second button popped open and Lasswell’s hips were lifting on their own in encouragement. Akstar’s rough hand returned to his stomach, running just one finger beneath the waistband of his pants. Left to right. Right to left. 

 

“You have the self-control of a rutting beast. I bet I could finish you with a single stroke.”

 

His hand slid inside his pupil’s clothing, fingers stopping just short of the twitching base of Lasswell’s erection. There they rested, a tantalizing, unsatisfying weight that refused to offer the younger man any sort of relief.

 

“Master...Oh, my Master  _ please…” _

 

Lasswell didn’t know what he was begging for. To receive that final touch that would undo him as the older warrior surmised? For Akstar to stop altogether? He was so hard it was becoming painful and difficult to think straight.

 

He tried to rub his cheek against the length stretching behind his head in supplication, but that proved to be a mistake. The older man hissed with disapproval and jerked, causing Lasswell’s head to bend at an uncomfortable angle.

 

“No! Bad dog!”

 

Lasswell opened his eyes, stammering an apology. “I...I’m sorry! I—“

 

Akstar was glaring. “That is a greater reward than you have any right to yet. Continue to be a good boy and you  _ may _ earn the privilege to touch your Master one day. Until then, this is as good as you deserve.”

 

Almost meekly, Lasswell replied, “Yes, Master.”

 

The older swordsman pushed at him. “That’s enough petting for now. I’m finished with you. Tomorrow, we’ll work on your sloppy blocking and enemy detection skills.”

 

“...Very well.”

 

It wasn’t fair. Akstar was just as hard as he was! Didn’t his arousal bother him in the slightest? He could order Lasswell to do anything at all, and yet he’d flat out rejected his pupil’s attempt to give him some relief.

 

_ I’ll never understand him, _ Lasswell thought and dragged himself to his feet, tucking his shirt back in and refastening his pants. He pulled back his hair with shaking hands and retied his ponytail. As he went to collect Purple Lightning, he was very much looking forward to taking a detour before rejoining the others. He desperately needed a release.

 

But as he started to walk away, Akstar called out to him yet again. “By the way…”

 

Lasswell paused, looking back. “Yes?”

 

“Keep your hands to yourself, understand me? No feeling yourself up the second you’re by yourself. You need to concentrate if you want to improve your fighting technique. That means you can’t be distracted by silly things like your cock.” 

 

Telling him  _ not _ to touch himself seemed counterproductive if his master wanted to clear sexual thoughts from his head. Forbidding him that outlet would make him focus on it  _ more _ .

 

But it was pointless to argue. 

 

“I’ll do as you say.”  _ Even if I hate it. _ He was miserable, and irritated, and just wanted to be gone from the other’s presence.

 

And then the other man smirked at him, but this time it was laced with something different. If he didn’t know better, Lasswell would have called it the faintest tinge of seduction. Akstar’s undamaged eye glittered.

 

“Good boy, Lassie. Keep that up, and you might just earn that reward before you know it.”

 

His heart skipped a beat, blood rushing into his cheeks and resurging to other places. 

 

_ Damn him! He knew saying that would get me flustered and there’s nothing I’m allowed to do about it! _

 

Still, as he left Akstar to his own devices, Lasswell admitted that those words gave him some light at the end of this torturous tunnel.

**Author's Note:**

> That was just awful, wasn’t it? Forgive me! Thanks for stopping by and suffering through this! You’re a brave soul!


End file.
